


Mine

by Cards_Slash



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Coercion, Comfort Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 02:43:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1452514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cards_Slash/pseuds/Cards_Slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for the very old prompt on part four of the kink meme: </p><p>In exchange for information that Altair needs to report back to Malik without being scolded, the Informant asks for Altair's body. Reluctantly, he agrees. But said Informant is caught half way through by Malik, who becomes angry and chases him away. From there it's up to Malik to show Altair that his body belongs to him, and him alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mine

The Informant looked at him as if he were nothing but a bit of trash that had happened to tumble by and get caught on his shoe. There was nothing even approaching respect or even common courtesy in the way his eyes changed when Altair spoke to him. The set of his whole body had changed as soon as Altair asked him for information. “Yes,” the Informant said, “I know something that will be useful to you.” And a pause as he looked at Altair again, differently. “For a price.”

“Name it,” Altair said. 

He could not see the man’s mouth behind the cloth he covered his face with but the smirk that must have been there was reflected in the sudden brightness of his eyes. “It is very lonely here in Jerusalem. I have been very far from my family—a wife, a son—and it has been difficult for me.”

“Speak plainly.”

“I want your body,” the Informant said, “and if it pleases me, I will give you the information I have.”

There had been many unfavorable tasks he had been asked perform since he was stripped of his rank. The other informants (and truly any Assassin he had happened across) and been quick-and-gleeful about abusing his new status to make him do the most menial and demeaning tasks. It was certainly no secret (perhaps had never been) that he was ranked amongst the most hated and least respected. Altair had never bothered to make friends with his brothers—never saw the need—but he still hadn’t expected _this_ particular degrading task.

Altair kept his face smooth and free of expression (the key to survival was showing no weakness, of course). He considered the importance of the information he was seeking, weighed it against his own objections. He thought of how Malik would insult him when he came back with nothing but the tenuous loyalty of a few scholars and the promised assistance of some young woman’s male family members. Altair had climbed a few towers and memorized the layout of the city but that information wouldn’t gain him any favor—would probably do little but provoke Malik now that he had been set on the task of map-making. 

“That is agreeable,” Altair said. “I know a place.” 

The Informant was kind enough, at very least, to allow him to lead them away from the busy lane of foot traffic, through a few crumbling buildings until they were able to climb up to the rooftops. They crossed a few until they were close enough to the Assassin Bureau that Altair felt confident he could easily make it there when they were finished. He found a rooftop garden that had been abandoned and swept open the curtains and stepped inside. It was cooler out of the sun but the little space was still stifling-and-suffocating as he stooped to keep from hitting his head and waited for the Informant.

“Bare yourself,” the Informant said. He was working the pack he carried off his back. It landed with a clunky noise in the corner before he set to removing his own clothing. 

Altair pulled the long tails of his robe up and loosened the string of his pants enough to work them off his sweat-damp hips. He felt ridiculous-and-naked with his ass and thighs naked to the thin stream of wind that blew through the ratty curtains. After a moment of consideration he dropped to his knees with his robes pulled up and his ass bare. The Informant’s breath was a wet-kind-of-grunt, the kind that some animal would make. 

The Informant knelt behind him, reached forward with his rough hands to palm at his bare skin and spread him open. Altair dug his hands into the loose dirt-and-sand under his knees and elbows and dropped his head between his arms. The pack the Informant had dropped dragged across the ground and the sound of its contents being searched through was almost louder than the sudden noise on the street as a pot crashed to the ground and a woman shouted about being treated roughly. 

“I should take you like this,” the Informant said behind him. His voice was so thick-and-heavy, like he could barely-even-breath. “It’s more than you deserve.” Then his hands touched Altair again, cupped around the curve of his ass and moved inward toward his opening. His fingertips were large and painful when they pressed against his hole, dragging across the sensitive skin there until Altair pulled away from him. The Informant fisted a hand in his robes and dragged him back with a hard slap on the thigh. Oh-it-would be so very-easy to jerk away from him, and even easier to break his jaw and leave him bleeding in the sweltering little garden but Altair obediently ducked his head and stilled. 

“Good,” the man said. There was a slick sound, and then the hand in his robes pulled so that his body was urged backward and a thick-slick pressure at his hole made Altair squeeze his eyes even tighter and bite hard into the straps of the hidden blade on his wrist. He was pulled slowly-but-steadily back onto the hard length of the Informant’s cock to the chorus of his obscene wet grunts. “I have often heard of how excellent you are in all that you do. I didn’t agree before, but I may change my view.” 

There were no safe words to use, nothing that Altair could think that wouldn’t have burnt out of his mouth like venomous hate so he said nothing at all. The man took his silence as submission and it pleased him. For a moment they were stuck in place with the steady-pressure of the man stretching him and the unwelcome feeling of his sticky skin pressed against Altair’s. Then Informant slapped him again over the handprint he’d left the first time and pulled out to thrust into him. He pushed the whole of his strength into it so that when his hips slapped against Altair’s it made his elbows skid across the dirt. The shock of it nearly sent Altair tumbling face-first before he caught the rickety-side of the garden to steady himself.

“Are you sure you can take it?” the Informant asked. His body was a weight across his back and his voice was a disgusting crawl against his ear. There was laughter in his throat as he pulled back and fucked into Altair again—just as hard, just as rough. 

“I can,” Altair said when he trusted his voice to be steady.

Someone-might have told him once-upon a time that he had the common sense of a stone; that he was unable to keep from making a situation worse than it had to be. The very sound of his voice seemed to infuriate the Informant so that he pushed both of his hands against Altair’s shoulders to shove his face into the dirt before he started thrusting into him without reserve. There was nothing-pleasurable in the way he was being used and Altair had no reason to think there was meant to be. 

The best he could hope for, he supposed, was that it would be brief and that he would have the strength to make it the close distance to the Bureau. He concentrated on the information he would gain and the tenuous peace that he’d made with Malik in the past few days. It gave him a pleasant dull place to cling to as his cheek skidded in dirt and his body jerked in sharp objection to the abuse. 

The sudden wash of sunlight and the cool sweep of air made Altair tense up reflexively and the Informant fucking into him cursed at his sudden delightful tightness before he even noticed the face peering down at them from the side of the garden. Those few seconds proved to be a fatal mistake because there was a knife at the Informant’s throat. Altair had to twist around against the tight hold that kept him pressed in the dirt to see Malik’s furious face as he stepped into the garden. His long black robe blocked most of Altair’s view but there was no mistaking the stance of his body.

“Remove yourself,” Malik said. 

The Informant pulled out of him so suddenly it left a great burning pain. Altair dragged himself forward, behind Malik where he could fix his pants without Malik seeing. He stood and gasped at the pain he wasn’t expecting before stubbornly ignoring it. Malik heard-it-though, looked at him out of the corner of his eye and then back at the man in front of him.

“It is fortunate you are a brother,” Malik said, “were you anyone else I wouldn’t hesitate to cut you neck to navel. You will _never_ speak of this to anyone and you will _never_ even so much as think of Altair again. If I find out different, I will not be so forgiving.” Then he kicked the Informant between the legs so hard that the sound the man made was inhuman as he slumped over. Malik tucked the knife away and grabbed Altair by the elbow to pull him out of the garden and across the roof. 

“Malik,” Altair said.

“You will not speak,” Malik snapped at him. 

\--

It had been a brief distance from the rooftop garden to the closed grate of the Bureau. Malik had curtly ordered him to remain where he was before he went over the side of the building and appeared below him to open the grate a short time later. (The secret to how to enter a closed bureau was guarded tightly by the Rafiqs that worked in them. Altair had never had the time or interest in knowing the details.) Malik called him down with an impatient noise and a wave of his arm. 

Altair took a breath and braced himself as he lowered himself through the grate, hanging on to the edge of it to lessen the distance he would fall to the ground. He landed with grace (at very least) but the strange slickness and residual pain of being used so roughly still made his skin crawl under his robes. 

Malik was frowning at him so severely, regarding him like he was attempting to weigh his worth against the trouble he inevitably caused. The longer he looked, the greater Altair’s discomfort. “Why?” Malik said, at last.

“I needed information.”

Malik’s laugh was brief-and-cruel like a bark that filled all the space around them. Altair didn’t flinch because he’d schooled himself out of the reaction years ago but it hurt no less for his lack of expression. “You needed information,” Malik repeated. “Information.”

“You told me yourself that I should not bother to return unless I had information about my target. I searched all morning for someone that knew something.”

“A whole morning!”

“And yesterday,” Altair snapped. 

“Ah yes. A day and a half of struggle and you are content to allow any man use you to get what you want. When Al Mualim stripped you of your rank I was not aware he’d also stripped you of your dignity and common sense!” The angrier Malik became the more his hand gestured so that by the time he’d shouted the last words he was waving his arm wildly out at his side.

“It was a reasonable exchange,” Altair said.

“Have you also been stripped of what little brains you once had?” Malik demanded. He was furious and pink all across his cheeks. The heated little space between them was muggy and the sweat under Altair’s clothes made him feel disgusting in a way entirely different from Malik’s cruel words. 

“It’s my body. I may do with it what I wish.”

And those words seemed to stab through the bubbling rage on Malik’s face. For a second he went completely still and calm, every part of his body relaxed from his tight-knit eyebrows to his furious scowl to the tight bunch of muscles at his shoulders. His arm lowered slowly at his side so that it hung loosely. When he spoke again, there was no anger but a sort of idle wonder. “Your body,” he said, “that you may do with as you wish.”  
“Yes.” Altair had known Malik since they were both small boys. He had grown up with him, learned all of his tells and all of his expressions and abused the knowledge for years. There was no greater danger than when the man stopped shouting. 

“No.” Malik even shook his head to emphasis the word. He took a step forward and Altair took a step back and found himself pressed against the wall by the fountain. The fall of water was a loud-pulse over his heart beat in his ear. Malik’s hand was against his chest up by his collar bone simply resting there as his fingertips toyed with an edge of the cloth. “You gave this body to me. It has been mine since we were still journeymen.”

“You didn’t want it anymore,” Altair said.

“You,” Malik said. His hand curled in Altair’s clothes and pulled him down—not hard, not hurtful but with an obvious force— “are wrong. You will not doubt again.” Then he kissed Altair. His hand went up around his neck to hold him in place and Altair gave easily, shuffled close and crouched to get his arms around Malik’s sturdy body. 

\--

They made their way, by degrees, from the open sunny room and through the office to the personal rooms where Malik made his home. It was dimmer and cooler in this room and Altair was grateful for the reprieve from the sun. Malik shed his black robe and pulled at the clothes he wore under it. Altair watched for a moment before remembering the many layers of his own clothing that should also be removed. 

He laid on the bed—not only out of eagerness—and watched Malik as he finished stripping himself. His body was still strong and handsome with smooth dark skin save for where his arm had been amputated. There were white bandages there that covered the damage the surgeons had left behind when they’d taken his ruined arm. Malik saw him looking and then glanced down at himself. “Even with one arm I am still more handsome than you.”

They had fought like animals over trivial things like bold words and empty prizes. Altair smiled at the words and reached out to put his hands on Malik’s bare skin and brought him forward. Malik had-always fit against him, always felt right as he slid his weight over Altair and pressed their mouths together. The narrow width of his hips had long been a comfortable fit between Altair’s thighs. 

There was an asymmetrical lean to Malik’s body now. Altair ran his hand down his right side, felt how tense the muscles were there as he held himself over Altair. His left side was smoother by contrast without the tension of effort in the muscles there. Malik was looking at his face when Altair looked up at him. He let his hands fall away and very-nearly mumbled an apology. 

“If your body is to be mine, it’s only fair that mine is equally yours,” Malik said. He shifted his weight so that he was sitting back on his bent knees, shuffled forward so that his thighs were under Altair’s. When they were new to this, the position was embarrassing to him: his legs spread open and hanging in the air as useless little twigs while Malik got a full view of him. “Are you hurt?” Malik asked. 

Altair shook his head. He had not enjoyed being taken so roughly and it was not comfortable but there was no lasting damage to his body. Malik considered the information, weighed it out to see if he believed it as he rested his hand against Altair’s raised knee. His hand was still rough as it went down the inside of his thigh in a slow drag. His fingernails trailed along the heated crease of skin where his thigh met hip before the flat of his palm pressed against his belly just to the side of his erection. Malik ran his thumb up the length of his dick and Altair’s body rose up against the touch as an instinctual desire for more. 

“You should be more careful with this body,” Malik said. His voice was far-away now, but his hand was real and present as it lazily moved up to his chest. The few hairs on Altair’s chest caught between Malik’s fingers and pulled. His nipples grew hard in anticipation of touch. Altair reached down between his spread legs to touch Malik’s waist, to feel the heat of his skin and the strength of his body as he folded forward. 

Malik’s tongue was hot-and-wet and slick when it ran across his nipple. His teeth were blunt when they nipped at him and the gentle suction of his mouth made Altair’s eyes close and his head roll back. 

Altair had endured had been a great many different touches since the last time they had lain together—from Malik and from many others and none of them had been kind. He had been beaten and stabbed and slapped. He had been kicked and spit on but there hadn’t been even the most momentary kindness offered to him. Altair pulled at Malik to bring him up to kiss him, curled one of his arms around Malik’s back to hold him there as he wrapped his legs around him. 

Malik rocked down against his body and Altair rocked back up against him as he kissed him with desperation. It was not a feeling he had ever allowed himself to feel (too much vulnerability in it) but it overcame him now. His hands were all over Malik, everywhere he dared to touch. But Malik was calm-and-still against the onslaught of his confusion. He kissed him with the same patience he always had. His body moved in slow-motion, so that he pressed Altair back against the bed as his dick dragged across Altair’s body. 

“Malik,” Altair gasped. It was his hand between their bodies catching at Malik’s dick, to press it against where his skin was still tacky-and slick from oil. He could count on a single hand the times he had ever willingly played this roll in their relationship. It had always-been-good but he always-been-proud and Malik had felt so-very-tight-and-hot when he fucked him.

“Over your head,” Malik said. Altair stretched his arm up and rifled through the things he found before he caught the smooth little pot and brought it down. He opened it and dipped his fingers into the cool oil before he reached down to slick Malik and then once more to rub it against his hole before he set it back over his head where he found it. 

Malik scooted forward again, so that Altair’s legs were spread open wide and his hips were cradled between Malik’s spread knees. His dick was a smooth pressure as it slid into him and Altair closed his eyes as he let out a soft little sigh. There was a twinge of pain at being taken again (so soon) and Malik stroked his dick as he stilled inside of him. “Remember you are mine,” Malik said. “Nobody else gets to have you like this.”

Altair nodded. Both of his hands were on Malik, running through the coarse hair on his chest, across the prominent roll of muscles in his stomach as he worked his hips slowly in-and-out. He gripped at his knees and thighs, and back up again to trace along his collarbone with the very tips of his fingers, felt the prominent throb of his heartbeat just under the sweat-slicked skin of his neck. Malik leaned his face against Altair’s hand, turned his head to kiss the inside of his wrist. 

Then Malik leaned over him, balanced his weight on his hand against Altair’s chest so that the pressure pushed him solidly against the bed under him. It wasn’t an unwelcome feeling, being held down and still, but something like comfort. Malik kissed him the way he hadn’t since they were still young and new at this. It was more honest and more real than anything they had done-or-said in so long Altair gripped at Malik’s body and held him just-right-there. 

They kissed as Malik moved in him shallow and slow. They kissed until they were damp from the muggy heat between their bodies. They kissed until Malik groaned against his mouth and moved his hand up to put his elbow against the bed and his fingers caught at Altair’s hair. Malik’s mouth was against his neck as he thrust into him faster-now and Altair put one leg around his back and reached between them to stroke himself. 

Malik came first, with a shudder and a low-punched-out-sound in his throat. He didn’t still but kept moving in greedy-hard thrusts that made Altair’s body twist and arch before he came all over both their bellies. Everything was blissful and lazy as Malik’s heat-and-weight held him in place and his body relaxed into something soup-like. 

Malik’s hand pulled his face down to one-more-kiss and Altair smiled into it. Malik stroked his cheek and then lifted himself up and collapsed next to him. They enjoyed the lewd feeling of being bare and filthy from sex.

Altair was sleepy-and-sated, content to be indecent but Malik couldn’t stand the sticky disaster they made of each other’s body and he’d rise soon enough and search out water and clothes to clean them both. Then he’d pester Altair back into clothes before they were allowed to rest. 

For now though, they were content. For now they laid next to one another in an easy silence unbroken save for their calming breaths and the sounds of the world moving just beyond these walls. 

“You still need to find information about your target,” Malik said after a pause. 

Altair groaned and lifted himself up to roll on top of Malik’s prone body. He lay against his chest with no effort to support his own weight and smiled where Malik could see him when the other man protested and tried to push him off. “I will see to it tomorrow, Dai,” he said.


End file.
